


Like Nobody's Watching

by AidaRonan



Series: Stucky 2019 Bingo Fills [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bucky worship, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Interoffice Romance, M/M, Rimming, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Sex Worker Steve Rogers, Some whorephobic language, Tenderness, Truck stop hookers, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21778657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: “Bucky, when’s the last time you were with someone?”Bucky raises an eyebrow.“Like half an hour ago. You were there.”Steve shakes his head.“I don’t mean work. Not that work can’t be fun sometimes, and that was definitely one of the fun ones. But it’s still work.” Steve rubs at the back of his neck again, nervously this time. “I mean when’s the last time someone took care of you?"
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky 2019 Bingo Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1427038
Comments: 36
Kudos: 468
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2019





	Like Nobody's Watching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CantSinkMyShip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSinkMyShip/gifts).



> For my talented and lovely friend CantSinkMyShip who made me some amazing buttons and pins in exchange for a fic that I should've written two months ago. 
> 
> Inspired by this [tweet nest](https://twitter.com/VenusMonstrosa/status/1199533396940247041?s=20) by VenusMonstrosa and lokiiseb. I gave Steve body hair and the beard though because CSMS requested it and because of who I am as a person. 
> 
> Gonna claim the "massages" square on my Stucky bingo card too.

There are typically four different hookers at the Triple J Truck Stop in Brooklyn, Arkansas on any given night—at least two of them men. The locals who know about them call them a lot of standard terms: prostitutes, gigolos, whores, sex workers.  
  
The truckers themselves call them lot lizards as they always have. On account of how they hop from truck to truck like reptiles looking for that Goldilocks rock warmed just so by the sun.

Usually Steve and Bucky work apart. Bucky’s methods are more old-fashioned, and he likes the opportunities that working directly on the ground affords him. He can avoid the trucks that make him wary. He can look for obvious customers in the drivers moving between the store and the infamous party row—the lines of trucks at the edges of the parking lot, farthest from the door and watchful eyes.

Steve, on the other hand, tends to hang back at his room at the Brooklyn Motel across the street. He uses the CB to fish, promising everything from the best truck wash any of the drivers have ever had to tire changes and _full service_ gas pumping.

Every now and then though, someone catches wise to the fact that there are two fellas servicing the Triple J, both gorgeous and hotter than any lot lizard has a right to be. Both willing to accept a significant bump in their usual rates to work with a partner.

They’re working together tonight, serving a chubby blond Norwegian immigrant named Thor, who seems to relish the company as much as the actual sex, paying them both extra to stick around after and lie too close and too tight on the bed in his cab.  
  
“Your money is on the front seat if I fall asleep. Thank you both for a pleasurable evening.”

When he starts to snore, they both extricate themselves from the cuddle pile, picking up items of clothing, then taking the money and slipping out of the truck. The first inkling of dawn meets them, the brightest stars still visible against a lightening sky.

Steve glances at the pale crescent moon hanging above and then at Bucky.

“Say, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Fuck off,” Bucky says, bumping him with his shoulder and rifling through the money. “He tipped too, God bless him.” Bucky slaps half the bills into Steve’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the sides of his palms and lingering a beat too long.

It’s unspoken that they’re going home, back to their respective rooms at the motel. Daybreak is a definitive end to working hours, and the morning commuters and travelers will start filtering through soon on their way to Little Rock or Texarkana or places even farther away.  
  
So without any word about it, they both pocket their cuts and head off together across the still-quiet street, walking so close that Bucky can feel the heat rolling off Steve’s muscular shoulder.

“I’m stealing that thing you did with your mouth by the way,” Steve says, rubbing at the back of his neck and shoulders with a quiet grunt. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Amateur porn. Had to sort of guess at what exactly he was doing, but I must’ve gotten there or landed somewhere equally worthwhile.”

“Guess you did.” Steve rubs at his neck some more, digging his fingers into the flesh there. “It’s unfair that you aren’t as sore as I am.”

“You trying to weasel a back rub out of me, Steve? I usually charge for that, you know,” Bucky says. “And I am. Sore. Some of us just aren’t whiners.”

“Maybe I should be the one giving the back rubs then.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, falling against the door to his own room. “How much?”

“We really have to work on our work-related humor, bud.”

“Sure. Meet me at the water cooler tomorrow and we’ll workshop our jokes about sucking dick for money.”

“I prefer to call myself a client satisfaction specialist actually.”

Bucky snorts and licks his lips, his eyes darting to Steve’s mouth and back up again. Steve’s smiling that smile that makes Bucky’s heart flicker a little in his chest—like the frames of an old film, a bit erratic, a lot beautiful. Someday, maybe they’ll stop dancing around this and actually buy a pair of tickets.  
  
Or maybe Bucky’s the only one dancing. He likes to think he’s not.

“Client satisfaction specialist, huh? I’m actually a full service therapist myself.”

Steve’s smile widens, and the projector in the old movie theater spits out the reel altogether, the whole thing tumbling down into Bucky’s stomach and clattering around on the floor.

They’re just staring at each other warmly now. It takes Bucky several seconds to register that fact and how awkward it might be to anyone watching, not that anyone is. He clears his throat anyway. Steve glances away at nothing in particular, and Bucky stands up straight, sucking a breath in through his teeth at the movement.  
  
He is sore. You can’t be a full grown adult who gets up and down on your knees all night, who contorts yourself into the types of positions it takes to fuck someone on the bunk or seat of a truck cab, and not be sore.

Steve watches him move, his smile fading into something else. Something intense and summer-warm.

“Bucky, when’s the last time you were with someone?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Like half an hour ago. You were there.”

Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t mean work. Not that work can’t be fun sometimes, and that was definitely one of the fun ones. But it’s still work.” Steve rubs at the back of his neck again, nervously this time. “I mean when’s the last time someone took care of you? When they took their time? When it was nice if sex happened but it didn’t have to. Or if it did, it could happen when it want-”

Bucky’s fingertips barely touch Steve’s wrist, the pads of his index and middle finger just skating along Steve’s wrist bone, but it stops him, a visible shudder crawling up his spine. Slowly, Steve’s hand moves, turning over to brush at the soft skin of Bucky’s palm.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. “A few months, maybe.”

What he doesn’t say is that at some point, he lost interest in everyone who wasn’t tall, bearded, blond, and living right next door.

“I could ask you the same question, pal,” Bucky says. And Steve looks away, his eyes finding the moon again where she dances her way gracefully toward the horizon.

“Buck?” he asks, his eyes locking back on Bucky’s, and it feels like they’re standing at the box office, hands clasped together, staring at the titles on the marquee. Almost.

Maybe.

“Yeah?” Bucky says.

“Can I come in?”

He stares at Steve a moment too long, a distressing little valley forming between Steve’s brows. No, not that face. Never that face.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quickly. “Yeah, Steve. I want- Yeah.” Bucky unclips his key from one of the loops on his impossibly tight jeans and lets them both inside.

As soon as they cross the threshold, Steve’s arms snake around him from behind, slow and tentative and with a low mutter of, “Is this okay?”

Bucky practically melts into them, fairly sure he says something in the vicinity of, “Yes.”

The coarse hairs of Steve’s beard scrape against his neck, Steve’s lips pressing a kiss to the sharp angle of Bucky’s jaw.

They don’t move. For the longest span of time, they just stand there in the main part of the motel room, Steve’s arms around Bucky, one of Bucky’s hands tangled with his, Steve’s chin resting on Bucky’s shoulder, his lips occasionally migrating to Bucky’s jaw or temple or that downy soft spot behind his ear—never wanting or demanding, just there. A steady presence like an old oak tree.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You smell.”

Bucky laughs. “Fuck you, like you’re any better.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m not. Your tub clean?”

“If it ever isn’t, assume I’ve been abducted and replaced by an evil robot clone.”

They finally move, awkwardly shuffling through the room to the bathroom without letting go of one another. It’s warm and a little silly, but it feels good to be close to someone. It feels good to be close to Steve.

Enough so that Bucky shivers at the loss when Steve finally does let go, reaching over to turn the hot tap on as far as it’ll go. To occupy his own hands, Bucky grabs a gray wicker basket from the shelf, passing it to Steve. All of his bath salts and oils and teas. Everything from a plain carton of epsom salts to eucalyptus spearmint bubble bath.  
  
Steve picks them up one by one, opening the tops to sniff at them, sometimes setting one down and going back to it, crafting some kind of aromatherapy cocktail that he eventually dumps into the running water. Bubbles churn up and rise across the surface like river rapids. Bucky can feel them pulling him along, closer and closer to–

Steve’s hands hover near the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “May I?”

“Kiss me first?”

“God, yes.”

Steve backs Bucky against the counter like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do, his arms snaking around Bucky once again, fingertips crawling under the hem of Bucky’s shirt and tickling his lower back. When he leans in, Steve doesn’t lead with his mouth but with his nose, nuzzling it against Bucky’s, face to face and sharing air and somehow still not kissing. (Why are they not kissing?)

Bucky can feel his own heartbeat in his throat, in his stomach, in every vein.

This is ridiculous. Steve’s tongue has already been in his mouth a millions times and that’s only counting today.

Not like this though. Not just for them. Not because he–

The first touch of Steve’s lips on his is light and deliberate and Bucky gasps at it, his breath catching and stuttering its way in. Without a second thought, he reaches up and tangles his hand into Steve’s honey-blond hair, pulling his mouth tighter against his. Whatever fragile control Steve had so far breaks, and he presses Bucky harder against the counter, kissing him with a fervor that makes Bucky’s toes tingle in his shoes.

They break just long enough for Steve to tug Bucky’s shirt off, his fingers tracing the muscles on Bucky’s back, then kneading into them as best as they can from that angle. It feels good anyway, Bucky moaning softly against Steve’s lips.

The sound of water sloshing onto tile is what finally breaks them apart, Steve swearing and nearly wiping out on the wet floor trying to get to the taps.

“Shit. Sorry,” Steve says, he and Bucky both grabbing at nearly every towel in the bathroom, tugging them from the racks and from the laundry pile under the sink.

“It takes two to flood a bathroom, Steve.” 

“I feel like it really doesn’t.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Punk.”

“Guess I’m going in,” Steve says, holding up his arm like he’s about to stick it into the mouth of a live alligator instead of a bath tub overflowing with jasmine scented bubbles. In he goes, suds soaking the bottom of his sleeve, the sucking sound of water flowing down the drain filling the tiny bathroom. When the water’s a good four inches below the rim of the tub, Steve plugs it up again.

“Where were we?” he asks, reaching for Bucky with two arms—one wet and covered in soap, one dry. Bucky takes a step forward, giving Steve access to the button of his jeans. It’s tender, the way that Steve pulls them down, kneeling on the floor in front of him. Bucky never wears underwear to work, but Steve doesn’t seem to focus on that. Instead he plants kisses on Bucky’s thighs, on the caps of his knees, on the sensitive skin over his hip bones. He pulls Bucky out of his slip-on shoes like a reverse Cinderella’s prince, and then he glances back at the bath.

“All yours,” Steve says.

“Not if you don’t get in with me.” As much as Bucky really does want to soak in a hot bath, he has no desire to stop touching Steve right now. None. Zero.

“Sure, of course.” Steve stands up and happily strips, shimmying out of his own impossibly tight jeans and pulling his navy compression tee off over his head to reveal the thick carpet of golden brown hair across his chest and stomach.

That right there is something Bucky hasn’t gotten to do working with Steve, something that felt out of bounds or at least outside the lines of what most of their customers wanted to see from them.

“Steve? Can I?” Bucky raises his hand, hovering it over Steve’s chest.

“Yeah, you can touch me however you want.”

“However I want, huh?” Bucky smiles, gently pressing his hand to the soft blanket between Steve’s massive pectorals.  
  
“Yeah, Buck.”

“It’s nice, you know, hearing you call me Bucky,” he says, trailing his hand down Steve’s body. He doesn’t use his real name at work. Neither of them do. Their clients get Isaac and Decker.

Bucky slides his hand lower, watching Steve’s eyes fall shut at the touch. Farther down, Steve’s hard, but it doesn’t seem any more important than the fact that Bucky is. They’ll get to it when they get to it. No rush, right now.

“It is,” Steve says. “Water’s gonna get cold.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Taking Bucky’s hand and kissing the pads of his fingers first, Steve turns and steps into the bath, sinking down into the bubbles with a soft sigh. Bucky goes next, both of them laughing and swearing while they try to squish into the small tub together, Bucky wriggling his ass between Steve’s thighs and letting Steve gently lean him forward.

Steve’s hands land on Bucky’s shoulders first, water and soap easing the glide of his fingers over Bucky’s skin. He rubs at the tension settled there, then works at the knots of stress making a home in Bucky’s neck. Bucky lets him, his eyes shut while time travels at a speed that has zero relevance compared to the firm trails of Steve’s thumbs tracking down either side of his spine.

“You’re fucking stunning, you know that?” Steve mumbles, digging delicious and brutal into Bucky’s lower back, his lips finding the knob of Bucky’s spine and the nape of his neck. He can feel Steve’s words against his skin, vibrating amongst the wet tickles coming from his beard. “I know you hear it all the time, but I needed to say it.”

“I do hear it all the time, but I don’t hear it from you.” Bucky leans back slowly, encouraging Steve’s arms around him, one massive hand resting on his thigh, the other spanning half his rib. “What does the company handbook say about fraternizing with coworkers?”

Steve laughs, a gentle huff through his nose.

“Highly encouraged. Handbook recommends letting said coworker take you to dinner sometime.”

“Well, if it’s in the handbook.”

A slight tightening of Steve’s arms and a kiss and playful nip on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’re still hard,” Steve says, his voice a low rumble. From the feel of Steve against his back, Bucky’s not the only one. “You want me to do anything about that?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Bucky says. “But only if you want that too.”

Steve’s fingers trail down Bucky’s thigh and back up again, the water swishing quietly as it parts around his forearm. Bucky watches them, the size of Steve’s fingers distorted where they move up and down his leg from knee to hip. Down again, shifting inward. On their next trip up, there’s no mistaking Steve’s intention. Bucky watches Steve’s hand close around his erection, sighing at the feel of him stroking firmly from base to tip.

“Fuck, that’s-” Bucky leans his head back, resting it against Steve’s firm shoulder. At work, when Steve touches him, there’s always a certain style to it—hard and rough. Not hurtful, no never hurtful, at least not in a way that isn’t fun, but it’s not like this—soft and deliberate. It’s hot, not like flames flickering and dying. But like the coals left behind, smoldering low and red.

“I think we should get out,” Steve says, and Bucky nods, slowly rocking his hips into Steve’s hand.

“Uh-huh,” he agrees. Because water is a terrible lubricant and at some point the way that Steve is touching him now isn’t gonna be enough. He still huffs a frustrated sigh when Steve lets go.

Getting out is funnier than getting in was, and Bucky forgets for a moment how bad he wants Steve’s hands back on him, content to bask in the glow of Steve’s face, lit up by laughter, his blue eyes creasing at the corners.

They dry off—a task prolonged by too many kisses, by Bucky mussing Steve’s hair just to see how it looks, by Steve retaliating and then finding something he likes in seeing Bucky’s hair wet and all over the place. More kisses, each one growing more frantic. Towels abandoned. A touch of desperate urgency in the way Steve nudges Bucky toward the bed.

Bucky’s glad he took the “do not disturb” down the day before when his clean skin hits the freshly laundered sheets, Steve falling on top of him, his weight comfortable and perfect, his hips rocking against Bucky’s.

One of Steve’s hands slips between them, wrapping around both of them at once. Lips on lips, bodies rocking into friction, into more, more, more.

“Steve,” Bucky says hoarsely, writhing into his touch even while he knows he’s about to stop it. “Steve, I wanna blow you.”

Steve halts, panting softly, his eyes searching Bucky’s.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They move, Steve on his back, Bucky crawling between his knees. He gets his mouth on Steve quickly, moaning obscenely, sucking loudly, working Steve over like–

Like…

Steve’s hand softly cards through his hair, encouraging him to slow down.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, voice as gentle as falling snow, “nobody’s watching.”

Bucky pulls off and takes a deep breath, leaning into Steve’s touch.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I wasn’t complaining. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to perform for me. I like you. _You_. Your body’s great. The things I know you can do with it are great. But they’re secondary. I just–” Steve traces one side of Bucky’s jaw. “I just wanna be near you. That’s all I need.”

Bucky takes that in and nods. “Try it again?”

“If that’s what you wanna do, I’m definitely not gonna refuse.”

“I do.”

He’s slower this time, pushing aside muscle memory and focusing on his relationship to Steve, on what he wants to do to Steve’s body instead of what he thinks he’s supposed to be doing. Of course it’s probably not at odds with what Steve wants—who doesn’t wanna come? But the importance lies in the distinction that Steve coming is what Bucky _wants_ , not what anyone feels entitled to.

“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” Steve says, and Bucky meets his eyes. Steve’s watching him hunger, yes, but also reverence, his fingers softly carding through Bucky’s hair and floating across his scalp like whispers. 

Bucky takes him deeper, one of his hands reaching for Steve’s left where it rests across his fuzzy stomach. Fingers tangled together, Bucky bobs up and down Steve’s length in steady, deliberate movements, amused every time Steve’s hips jerk with the primal need to fuck up into something warm and wet and willing.

“That better?” Bucky asks, pulling off just long enough to take a full, unimpeded breath.

“You tell me,” Steve says.

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “Yeah, it’s better.”

He takes Steve in again, all the way back in his throat. His gag reflex has been fucked for ages, but he doesn’t mind at all when Steve genuinely moans, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s short, dark hair. Faster bobs now, a slight swirl to Bucky’s movements, his tongue tapping at this spot just so. A change of angles to send Steve’s cock sliding across the roof of his mouth.

“Fuck,” Steve says, inhaling shakily through his teeth. Bucky slows down again, back to gentle and steady. Up, down, up, down. Steve’s hips jerk and jerk, held back through force of will alone.

“You don’t gotta doing that.” Bucky pulls off again with an obscene pop, stroking Steve’s spit-wet flesh.

“Huh?” Steve sounds absolutely wrecked. Bucky’s fucked Steve before. He’s sucked him off while truckers gave him step-by-step instructions. He’s fingered Steve’s hole and been fingered in return. They’ve both been balls deep in each other dozens of times, not always alone.

But he has never, not once in all that time, heard Steve sound so far gone.

“You wanna fuck my mouth. You don’t have to stop yourself.”

“Bucky, I–”

“Enthusiastically consent 100% to you fucking my mouth. You’re not using me if I wanna be used, Stevie.”

Steve stares down at him, blinking once, twice, three times, before slipping his hand onto the back of Bucky’s head and encouraging him down. Bucky opens his mouth, letting Steve’s cock slide velvet-silk past his lips and over his tongue. Below him, Steve starts to rock his hips, slowly thrusting into Bucky’s mouth. Then faster.

“You want me to stop, just pull away. Or give me a tap. Something.”

Bucky meets his eyes again, his mouth open wide to take him, drool starting to leak and dribble and pool around Steve’s base. He gives Steve a thumbs up, which earns him both of Steve’s hands holding his head firmly in place.

Steve fucks his mouth harder, bucking up into the warmth of it, taking what he wants. What Bucky’s more than willing to give him.”

“Fuck, fuck.”

He’s gonna come soon. Bucky can sense it. Feel it in his bones and in the way Steve is driving into his face, deep and hard and needy.

And then Steve, just… stops, pulling out of his mouth entirely and panting on the bed, his glistening cock still hard and twitching.

“You didn’t… I’d know if you did,” Bucky says.

“Didn’t want to.”

“What?”

“Not– Come here,” Steve says, both soft and hoarse. Bucky crawls back up Steve’s body, Steve grasping him by the back of the neck and pulling him close.

Another kiss, tender but heated, like chocolate cake with just a hint of chile.

Kiss stretching on, Steve slips his hand off the back of Bucky’s neck, trailing it down his bare torso—down and down and—Bucky gasps into the kiss. Steve’s jerking him off. No teasing touches leading up to it this time. Just his hand wrapping around him and making long, purposeful strokes from base to tip and back again.

Bucky moans into his mouth.

“Steve,” he pants, breaking the kiss and rubbing his cheek across Steve’s just to feel the rough scratch of his beard.

“Anything you want, Buck. Just tell me what it is.”

“Something we can keep as just ours.”

He doesn’t have to explain.

“Roll over,” Steve says, letting him go. Even expecting the loss of Steve’s hand, Bucky protests with a soft whine. But he does as Steve asks, turning onto his stomach. “Question,” Steve says.

“Mhm?” And fucking fuck, Bucky’s legitimately rutting against the mattress, his body seekingout any friction it can get. Steve doesn’t seem to mind.

“How many squats did it take to get this ass?” Steve’s hands grab hold on either side, his thumbs gently prying into the crease in the middle, pulling it apart. A soft, teasing stream of air ghosts over Bucky’s hole, sending a delicious shiver up his spine.

Bucky half-laughs, half-whimpers into the pillow, his muscles fighting a little war—half of them wanting to continue to rut against the sheets, the other half wanting to push his ass up into Steve’s face for more attention.

Steve’s thumbs press deeper into the valley between his cheeks, brushing and teasing at his rim, every nerve ending there firing on all cylinders. 

“Of course you choose right now to tease me,” Bucky huffs.

“No time like the present,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear his smile. His lips twitch in response, then promptly go slack at the feeling of beard hair scraping up his inner thighs, serving as the wake of the ship that is Steve’s mouth, trailing kisses wherever he can find a patch of un-kissed skin.

Bucky goes back to humping his own sheets. Steve’s tongue finds his hole and circles it, drawing a massive ring around his pucker. The next circle is narrower, and the pattern continues until Steve finally starts to lick something that matters, his tongue lapping and swirling and dipping in expert fashion, until Bucky feels like he’s going to explode from want.

“Right. Drawer.”

“Hmm?” Steve hums, the sound tickling Bucky’s most sensitive skin. Bucky shudders.

“The-the– God, please. I can’t think straight.”

Steve stops, pressing a tender kiss right on one of the globes of Bucky’s ass. “You okay, Buck?”

“Lube. This nightstand.” Bucky gestures wildly. “Stevie, if you don’t put your dick in me in the next five seconds, I might actually die. And how tragic would that be for you? You’d be so sad.”

Steve laughs.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, nuzzling his beard against Bucky’s ass again one more time before sliding off the bed. “Do you want me to–”

“No. But if you want to, I get it. Just because we both do the same job doesn’t mean, well…”

“I’m clean as of my last test,” Steve says. “You?”

“Yeah. Admittedly had to do a round of anti-biotics, but nothing permanent.”

Steve pulls open the drawer of the nightstand, grabbing a packet of lube from the pile, his brow furrowed subtly in that way it does when he’s thinking something over.

“Really, Steve, I’m not gonna be offended if you wear a condom.”

“I guess logically I know I _should_ ,” Steve starts, tearing open the lube packet with his teeth, “but I really _really_ wanna watch my come drip out of your pretty little asshole, ya know?”

“Fuck, Steve, you and me both,” Bucky says, his heartbeat quickening when Steve starts to slick lube right onto his bare cock. He has more to say about how the risk is minimal if they’re both strict about condoms at work. He’s pretty sure Steve is.

But he can’t do words anymore. Not when he feels the heat off Steve’s legs brushing against his calves and thighs on his way up the bed. A strong arm curls under Bucky’s belly, tugging him up onto his knees, Steve’s other hand gentle but firm between his shoulder blades, keeping Bucky’s chest against the mattress. 

“You need a pillow or anything? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I fuck in truck cabs for a living. This is the epitome of luxury right here.” Bucky looks back at his shoulder to find Steve slowly stroking his slick erection. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, and Bucky huffs a little laugh and grabs a pillow, shoving it under his chest. Okay, that actually is a lot better. “Happy?”

Steve smiles, both fond and feral, eyes roaming over Bucky from head to hole. “Yeah, Buck, I really am.”

There’s no real preamble to Steve sinking inside of him, Steve’s breath leaving his lungs in one long exhale as he does so. It goes easy, Bucky still fucked loose from having both Steve and Thor inside of him earlier in the night.

Fully ensconced, Steve curls his body over Bucky’s, kissing and nipping at his shoulders while he rolls his hips, moving in and out of Bucky’s hole in ever-quicker waves.

“You feel so good, Buck,” he says, voice low, beard scraping roughly against Bucky’s trapezius. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this. Just mine to take apart, to treat you the way you deserve.” His hand slips under Bucky’s chest, fingers pinching and tugging at one nipple than the other. His hips keep rolling, rolling—relentless and steady and good, so fucking good.

“You got me,” Bucky pushes back against him, his body rocking to and fro with every thrust. Steve’s hand slides down his torso and the little line of hair that leads to- Bucky gasps, Steve changing angles the second he gets his hand on him.

“Oh God,” he groans, long and low. “Oh Christ, Steve.”

“Like that, huh?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods frantically.

“Don’t stop. Fuck, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And he doesn’t stop, not for a second, his hips picking up speed and force, his hand stroking and twisting and curling over the head of Bucky’s cock. “Gonna come for me soon, Buck?”

“Fuck,” Bucky bites his lip. “Yeah.”

“That’s good,” Steve says, breathless. “So good. Let’s make a mess, you and me, huh? We can sleep in mine after.”

It’s so much—the pressure building with every thrust, with every slide of Steve’s hand down Bucky’s erection. So. So much.

When Bucky loses it, he doesn’t hold back a sound, his moan loud, whorish—in a way he never is even when he’s literally being a whore—and, most importantly, real. Steve doesn’t stop stroking until he’s done, milking out every drop Bucky has left.

The thrusting stops when Bucky’s groans do. Steve pulls out almost all of the way, panting heavily while he jerks himself off in fast, rigorous strokes. Within seconds, he’s emptying into Bucky’s hole with a grunt.

It’s been a long, long time since Bucky felt come run out of him and drip down his balls. He sighs contentedly, reaching between his legs and gathering a few drops on his fingertips. Falling onto his back, he sucks them into his mouth while Steve stares down at him intensely, his arms and forehead glistening with sweat.

Eventually, Steve catches his breath and moves, pressing kisses to Bucky’s forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and both eyelids. Bucky has to wrap his own hand around the back of Steve’s neck to drag his lips on his, their tongues gliding soft and slow across one another’s until Bucky pulls away, his body stretching tight with a yawn.

Steve smiles fondly, carding his fingers through damp hair Bucky knows has to be a mess of short curls. “Tired?” Steve asks.

“Mm. Probably past my bedtime. You?”

“Yeah.” Steve yawns too, then slips off the bed, coming back with a warm, wet hand towel, gently wiping the sweat off Bucky’s body, then sliding it up between Bucky’s legs to clean the lube and come off his skin before it dries. He’s fast and efficient when he turns the towel on himself, tossing it toward the laundry basket next to the dresser.

“Come on,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s robe where Bucky had thrown it over the desk chair sometime the previous evening. By the time Bucky pulls it on, Steve’s managed to wriggle back into his skin tight jeans, his underwear and shirt balled up in his hand.

It’s decent enough to slip next door, which they do, Steve immediately stripping down again and pulling Bucky into his arms and into his bed. Quiet descends, Bucky falling into that hazy place between consciousness and not, his only tether to the waking world the gentle circles of Steve’s thumb on one of his ribs.

“You and me,” Steve says softly, his breath ghosting through the hairs at the back of Bucky’s head, “we doin’ this?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky slurs tiredly, “I think we are.”

Bucky doesn’t remember falling asleep when he wakes up sometime in the late afternoon. He does, however, remember the feeling of Steve’s lips softly pressing a kiss onto the nape of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Jae (VenusMonstrosa) also requested the scene where Bucky's performing and Steve gently tells him that he doesn't have to be, so credit for that spot goes to her. 
> 
> Steve and Bucky's work aliases are inspired by Asimov and Leyendecker, respectively. 
> 
> If you liked this, I am on the [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BiStarBucky/status/1205450240205164547?s=20).


End file.
